


above, beyond and in between

by illgivethattoyou



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Friendship goals, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Pack Dynamics, Things that should have happened on screen thanks, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:27:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25068406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illgivethattoyou/pseuds/illgivethattoyou
Summary: Here's a one-shot of Stiles and Scott helping each other out. Mostly canon, maybe not exactly according to what happened on screen.You know what they say; create the content you want to see. Here it is.
Relationships: Allison Argent & Lydia Martin, Lydia Martin & Scott McCall, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski
Kudos: 11





	above, beyond and in between

**Author's Note:**

> This one is after 03x05 and before 03x06. 03x05 is my favorite episode. Yes, not Motel California, but the one before. I can't explain why I like it so much. Maybe it's because it really shows how much Scott gives for the pack, and I'm so impressed by it. Here's a little Stiles taking care of Scott.

Stiles was getting detached.

He didn’t mean to, but he did it. Perhaps, subconsciously, he did do it on purpose. Or maybe it was in his blood. Any successful sheriff should be able to turn emotions on and off at any time, right? He wasn’t actually sure though, if his dad could do it like he could. Stiles was getting too good at it. There he sat, his best friend, someone who had seen him high and low, his best and worst. Inklike blood oozing down his chest, sweat glistening on his forehead, and the thought passed. Scott could die. Right there, on the bathroom floor at a food stop, somewhere in California. And Stiles felt… Worry, of course. He was worried. But he felt weird. Worry was a near constant for Stiles. Should he be crying? Screaming for someone to do something, anything? Lydia wasn’t doing that, and neither was Allison. But he felt he should be doing more. He should be feeling more.

Scott didn’t die though. Maybe the thought was an exaggeration, even, he thought to himself. But only after the danger passed. Scott was sitting one row in front of him, next to Allison, his head bobbing gently with the movement of the bus as he slept. Stiles swallowed, and swallowed again to try and open his throat a little. He jumped when Lydia put a hand on his knee. She looked at him, and he returned her gaze, until he found himself so burnt with truth that he had to look away.

“Stiles?” she went, her eyes on his jaw, unsuccessfully trying to get him to look again.

Stiles stared at the back of Scott’s head, trying to decide whether he should express himself. The decision after would be worse; how would he describe what he was thinking to anyone, even someone as incredibly smart and understanding as Lydia? He turned his eyes to Allison now, who kept looking at Scott every ten seconds, as if she expected him to fall to the floor of the bus any time now, limp, black blood encasing his heart inside his chest. There, she looked again. Stiles finally gave in, and turned to Lydia. He almost instantly regretted this, but he wouldn’t look away again. If he did that, he would definitively keep everything to himself. “Do you ever feel that—” he began, raising his hands, balling them into fists and letting go again. “Do you ever feel like—like you have a sort of… immunity. For the things you used to feel deeply. Nothing is ever as—as intense.”

Lydia cocked her head sideways. Her rounded, pink lips parted slightly and Stiles knew that she was following in his footsteps on that particular train of thought. “What do you mean?” she asked, but she was just asking for Stiles to elaborate. And so he did. He thought on his words, but not for too long.

“Things are getting real. All the time, people are in danger. I used to listen on my dad’s radio for crime, but death and pain is all around us now. Whenever Scott calls me, I know I need to bring a bat. When you call me, I’m preparing myself to look at a murder victim. You prepare yourself every time. Somehow, that makes everything less painful, while everything is so much more important. It just—it doesn’t make sense to me.”

Lydia nodded and looked away, pondering for a moment. “There is a term for this, you know.” She turned back to Stiles.

“Crisis fatigue,” Allison said it, keeping her eyes toward the front of the bus. “You’re constantly alarmed, so you start letting your guard down. At some point, bad news is just news. Then, news becomes meaningless words.”

“You get so used to everything crumbling around you that you lose hope in ever rebuilding,” Stiles said hoarsely, grateful that his friends understood. He looked at Scott again, a shiver running down his spine as he did. Lydia squeezed his knee. He gave her a small smile that, he knew, never reached his eyes.

* * *

Later, they would get off the bus at the sketchiest motel in California. Scott and Stiles paired up and looked for a room. When they found one, Stiles flopped onto the bed, while Scott took more care lowering himself onto the mattress. The boys sat in silence for a bit. Stiles saw how Scott looked pale still, and breathed carefully. He looked better than this afternoon, though. When Scott showed a crooked smile, through what Stiles knew would be pain, he felt the irresistible urge to hug his friend. He stood up and crossed the four feet between their beds to sit next to Scott and wrap his arms around him, avoiding the left side of his ribcage. Scott gratefully accepted the warmth, sinking into the hug with a sigh of exhaustion. The weight of Scott’s arms gave away how much he needed Stiles, the love and support of his best friend, at every turn. Scott was a werewolf, a strong and powerful creature, heightened senses and incredible healing powers. Scott lead them away from so many dangerous situations, fought with such conviction and dug up so much bravery and strength to fight for what he believed in and those he loved, that Stiles would forget that in the first place, Scott was a human being. Many believed in Scott, but Scott also needed something to hold on to.

“I think I’m gonna take a nap,” Scott mumbled into Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles nodded. He blinked, and his eyes stung with tears. He let go and lay back on Scott’s pillow for a second. He would have gotten up, but Scott lay down beside him and said: “Thanks for being here.”

Stiles frowned, and leaned his head back a little to see Scott’s eyes sharper. “Always, buddy.”

Scott smiled his crooked smile, and closed his eyes. A tear rolled down Stiles’ temple and stained the pillow. He was tired, it was true, but god, he could not imagine how he would feel if someone told him that Scott was gone. Stiles carefully lifted his friend’s shirt, and watched the blackened wounds shrink a little in the low light. He was alive. For the first time in quite some time, Stiles could fill both his lungs with air. In a moment of complete serenity, he sank into the world of dreams.


End file.
